


The Foundation of Fear

by Chaosite



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Day 6, Gen, an imperial march 2017, dark themes, dread masters - Freeform, mention of self-mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 17:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10141820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaosite/pseuds/Chaosite
Summary: "The whole is greater than the sum of its parts" - Aristotle





	

The shadows in the Dark Temple seemed alive, creeping around her, clinging to her skin, their indistinct whispering sending chills down her spine. She could feel a soft hum of the stone floor under her feet, the unmistakable sign that at least one of the Phobis devices was active. Well, that, and a slippery sensation somewhere just beyond her grasp, clawing relentlessly at her mental barriers, urging to cover, to flee, to disappear among the shadows. She smiled, her steps not faltering even for a moment. Bestia knew fear and thrived on its power: it followed her everywhere she went, and it was her who commanded it, not other way around.

Ignoring a sudden blood-curdling scream, reverberating in the corridors, Bestia entered the Phobis chamber, steeling her mind against the direct onslaught of pure, crippling terror.

Some poor acolyte’s body laid on the floor, still twitching, her dead eyes open wide, a small trickle of blood in the corner of pale lips vivid red against the woman’s ashen skin.

“I think she bit her tongue off.” Brontes didn’t bother looking up from the research station, reaching up for a datapad held up by some sort of metal claw attached to the stone floor. There was more of them, all around the chamber, hanging off the walls and ceiling, waiting motionlessly for their mistress’ commands. “I wonder if...” she started, but then just shook her head, turning to the Phobis device. It was surrounded by four claws, which unfolded gracefully, and then joined together activating a forcefield, creating a dome crackling with white energy. Brontes didn’t move, engrossed in the readings flashing on the datapad.

Bestia felt her fists clenching in anger. Oh, how she longed to lash out, make the other Lord crawl at her feet, teach her some respect. She never took lightly to being ignored, but, unfortunately, she was also painfully aware that Brontes was essential to... _their_ new cause. There was no one else quite like her, but the same could be said about the rest of them, and wasn’t it infuriating? For the Sith, a rivalry resulting in bloodbath was like breathing, so this new... cooperation felt unnatural.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Brontes’ silky voice cut into her musings. She still wasn’t looking at Bestia, her gaze focused on the device, sitting dark, cold and silent inside the forcefield, yet still pulsating lazily, relentlessly pushing on its boundaries. “And yet I can’t not hate it a little, because I know I won’t be able to master and harness its power properly just by myself. Sooner or later it will claim me, take my mind and turn it against me. It’s so beautiful. However... to suddenly find myself forced into becoming merely a part of something greater is... unnerving, to say the least.”

“Yes, it is.” Bestia shrugged, and came to stand at the other Lord’s side. “But the Emperor brought us here together. We should trust his will.”

“Oh, I know, I know.” Brontes waved her hand impatiently. “Raptus told me all about it. I swear, this man could talk for hours. I’m certain Tyrans agreed to join us just to quiet him.”

“Tyrans is more than that.”

“Yes. We all are.”

To say that Bestia never hesitated would be an overstatement, but she was used to acting swiftly and with force. Brontes was meticulous, always analysing and calculating, her mind was able to make leaps and connections none of them could ever dream of. If she wasn’t sure about the devices... well, if that was the case it was too late, anyway. The choice was made, by them or for them, it was never entirely clear when one acted under the Emperor’s direct orders, and all that was left now was carrying it through.

“If you’re having doubts, this is no time or place for them. Not anymore.” Bestia said coldly.

“Only Jedi do not doubt, and that’s because they don’t _think_.” Brontes answered mockingly. “But don’t worry, I don’t plan on backing down. This, “she pointed at the Phobis device,” surpasses everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Calphayus looks at them and sees our future victories, sees greatness, and you don’t have to be a prophet like him to understand that they hold the potential for so much more. I want to know it, I want to have it all, but...”

“You will.” Bestia interrupted her imperiously. “ _We_ will. This is just a beginning.”

“Yes...” Brontes looked ahead, her eyes empty. “But what will be the end?”

Bestia sighed. There was no point in arguing any further.

“Come” she commanded.” Give Styrak your notes, make him do some work, you’ve been here for too long. It’s starting to affect you.”

Brontes hummed and cocked her head, still looking thoughtful.

“Perhaps. Well, at least if we all go mad, the entire galaxy will follow.”

Bestia smiled at that, there was a dangerous glint in her eyes.

“Of course. The galaxy will fall before us. One way or another.”


End file.
